


A Wizard for Arthedain

by Isaac_A_Drake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Middle Earth History, Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-01 23:19:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17876669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isaac_A_Drake/pseuds/Isaac_A_Drake
Summary: Places Sirius expected to end up after falling through the Veil? Hell, Hades, the Underworld, Niflheim, possibly even France. Places he did not expect to end up? Someplace called Middle Earth in the middle of yet another war with a dark lord, this one called the Witch King of Angmar.





	1. Wizard of the Broken Tower

**Author's Note:**

> Look guys, I need to get my medieval fantasy thing out somehow and I wanted to do something unique. Let me know if you guys think this is worth pursuing as my secondary story to Mirai Marvel. I’m still looking for another one that can sustain its own muse.

Sirius Black awoke with the coldest fiery pain he had ever felt blasting up and down every nerve in his body.

He knew about nerves because Lily had always been weirdly annoyed about things like “science” and “biology” being underrepresented in Wizarding education and had not stopped talking about them the entire time he knew her, both before and after she got with James. Though he did hear a lot more after. He'd preferred her music and movies though. Those were fun. He liked Queen. Freddie Mercury was very attractive. Star Wars was super rad, too. He knew the muggle lingo. 

His hand went up to clutch his forehead as he thought, “Oh great I'm blabbering in my own head about nothing. I need to figure out what bloody happened to me.”

Slowly, very slowly as more pain shot up to his head, he sat up and looked around. He was sitting at the foot of a large broken stone pedestal and even through the broken masonry he could tell he was on top of some kind of tower or lighthouse.

A really shitty run down ruin of one at least. 

Ah and there were mostly decayed corpses as well. Almost skeletons really.

“Well that settles it I'm dead and this is Hell.” He looked around further, “Hmm maybe more like Hades? Hmm the Greeks were right, that's a lark.”

He scrambled down from the stone and quickly located his wand.

“Well that’s something, wouldn’t like to be unarmed in Hades. Might have to fight my way past Charon to get out right?”

Because, Sirius reasoned, if he’d fallen through a portal to Hades he wasn’t technically dead, so he could still escape.

And then he heard sounds of metal hitting metal. 

He glanced around and after a silent Lumos to illuminate his surroundings he found a stairway heading down.

“Well, Gryffindor’s charge and all that, tally-ho, etc etc!” Down the stairs he went. 

And down below he found a strange scene.

A half score of men, dressed like some strange mix of Roman legionnaire and Eastern European Hussar were fighting a bunch of animated skeletons with pikes and swords. 

Well obviously the animated skeletons were the evil things here. Though he was kinda freaked out by the idea that maybe he’d gone through a portal that sent him to a lost Roman Legion or something. 

Flicking his wand out a few bludgeoning hexes went out and smashed the skeletons to pieces.

And then something let out a fell howl and dark shadows left the skeletons and animated more of them.

“Ah okay, so that’s how it is!” Finally speaking the soldiers turned to stare at him, a strange man in dark robes with a stick.

“Expecto Patronum!” Channeling the happiness that he had saved Harry, even if it meant he was sent on this weird trip, a giant wolfhound, similar to his animagus form, burst forth from his wand, shining and shimmering in the dim light.

It charged forth with a howl and the light of the patronus did not only cause the strange spirit creature to flee, but burnt straight through it. 

“Huh...”

The skeletons all fell to the ground, no longer puppeted by the strange wraith. 

Then the men turned to look at him in awe and began chattering away at him in a strange language.

“Okay well that’s all Greek to me so let’s fix this.”

He quickly began chanting a translation charm for himself.

“Alright,” Sirius said, “I fixed the language issue, start from the beginning. My name is Sirius Orion Black and I am a wizard. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

See? All those years of manners and traditional education did stick, purebloods just weren’t worth the respect of showing manners to. 

The one...soldier? Knight? In a cape strode forth and bowed, “Well met, Wizard Sirius! I am Prince Araval of the kingdom of Arthedain! I and my soldiers were here on a quest to cleanse this tower of the evil barrow-wights who overtook it after the Witch King of Angmar’s assault decades ago brought the land around the Weather Hills to darkness! It is with your aid now that we have succeeded! Amon Sul shall return to Arthedain and we will once more have an eastern stronghold against Murzador!” 

Sirius blinked, “Well that was a lot to digest. So I’m not dead and this isn’t Hell?”

The man blinked back, “Ah...nay Wizard. You are in Arthedain.” No recognition from the wizard across from him. “In...formerly Arnor?” Still nothing. “Middle Earth?” 

“Wait...MIDDLE Earth? I mean I’m from Earth but I’ve never heard of a Middle to it.” 

“Oh...this is quite strange indeed.”

“Tell you what, I don’t think I’m going home anytime soon, and it seems like magic can help you out. I come in peace, take me to your leader?” He’d always wanted to say that.


	2. The Red Wizard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well the follows and favorites for this seem good, but I’d like some written opinions so I know what y’all think in more detail. Also I don’t have internet until Tuesday so I am uploading these from my phone and thus have no easy way to double check my research so some of the Middle Earth spellings might be off.   
> And yes the somewhat off-putting tonal shifts between Sirius and inhabitants of Middle Earth is on purpose. I’m drawing a bit from Mark Twain’s Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court here.

Sirius was just along for the ride at this point. Either he was in some weird afterlife. Some weird fey realm. Though he was pretty sure tales of the Nevernever, Avalon, and Asgard all were wildly different from this. 

For indeed once they had left the dismal tower, climbed down the rocky tainted hill, and gotten a few leagues off from the corruption of the Barrow-wights he found the kingdom of Arthedain to be quite pleasant.

Rolling green hills with copses of trees dotting the landscape as far as the eye could see, he could do a lot worse for places to be stranded.

“Hark, Lord Sirius, however did you come about the summoning of the spirit of Huan?” Bespoke the prince.

“Huan? Spirit? Do you mean the dog-shaped light I summoned? It is simply a protective spell that takes the form of my own spirit’s shape. I can also turn myself into that animal at will! I call myself Padfoot like that!” 

And with that he shifted into his animagus form to the shock and awe of the ten Dunedain around him.

“This wizard must be the reincarnation of the great hound! Huan of legend born again! For he has the very form and essence of the beast of yore! And when called upon the spirit strides again to protect all near him!” One of the men called out.

Sirius turned back into his human form and coughed into his hand, “Well I don’t know about that. I had to study magic long and hard to pull off both of these spells. I simply can turn into a hound because my personality is suited to such. Loyal, fierce, determined, and a little playful. All that good stuff!” 

But the prince shook his head, “Nay, friend wizard. Perhaps all you say is true, and yet ever did the hound of Valinor protect the hero Beren and his love Luthien. He spoke but thrice, and yet that proved an intelligence and spirit more powerful than most mortals. If not reborn, you are surely blessed by he.” 

The wizard further resigned himself to being the victim, though perhaps in this case benefactor, of their superstitions and local religion. 

“Well it is not all I can do, but I guess those are two of my strongest spells, yeah,” Trying to change the subject he glanced around.

“Those trees seem...strange to me.” And indeed there was a copse of trees in the distance, taller and thicker than any other near, and also a darker and more vibrant green.  
“Oh, aye, those would be the Ents that visit at times the Old Forest of Orald. He is a strange fellow. Powerful we think, but prone to self-isolation and queer antics,” Prince Araval explained, “He has his own kind of magic. A subtle art to do with the workings of the earth and the trees from what I have heard. His wife, Goldberry is some kind of sprite or spirit, a fae woman made manifest, lovely as any elf maiden or so the stories say.”

“So that stories say? It’s right there, don’t you all go visit? Stop by for a cuppa?” 

The prince blinked at the strange wizard who had rescued him, “My you wizards all have the strangest notions don’t you? I suppose he might greet you as kindred. I hear the Grey Wizard was once seen going in to the Old Forest before he departed to the southeast after first appearing on Middle Earth with his fellows. You’re a bit behind the rest of them in fact, I hear the Blue Wizards have both already departed for the far east, and the White and Grey have been roaming collecting fell knowledge for nigh two centuries now. The Brown Wizard simply disappeared into the wilds.”

At this the prince finally narrowed his eyes at Sirius’s garb, “What wizard are you? A black wizard?”

“Oh my family may be Black,” Sirius couldn’t resist the pun as his mind worked at top speed to figure out the best way to handle the situation, “But I...”

He paused dramatically and flourished his wand, “Am Sirius the Red!” And with a twirl his robes repaired themselves and turned a deep Gryffindor red, with the gold trim he remembered from his old quidditch robes. In fact overall his transfiguration quite resembled his old quidditch robes, purposefully layered and parted in places to allow a full range of movement. Minus the helmet of course. 

And the men of Arthedain were much awed by this display. For red was indeed a color very far from black, the color of the Ancient Enemy and his rogue Witch King, and denoted a type of power and violence that perhaps could be used against the Witch King. While the other wizards all seemed elderly and fae and studious in nature, with a bit of fickleness and temperamental nature thrown in, this wizard seemed youthful and vigorous. Prone to combat and valor. 

Certainly, thought the prince, this was a wizard whom could aid them greatly in their battles to come. When the other wizards did not. Two hundred years since they had arrived in Mithlond, and not once had one of them ever attempted to aid Arthedain against the Witch King, instead disappearing into the wilds or the far east or the archives of Gondor and Orthanc. This wizard, he mused, might not be so useless to them.


	3. Fornost

Five days of riding it took to gain sight of the capital of Arthedain, the last bastion of the Dunedain against the Witch King of Angmar.

To quote the parlance of Sirius’s home world, a shining city upon a hill. 

More accurately a shining city on a hill, next to a lake, and then southwest of some bigger hills that turned into small mountains.

Oh dear, Sirius thought to himself, I’m babbling in my head again. This biography nonsense they’ve been running me through is getting to me.

For the past five days of riding had been a mix of interesting, rousing, and exhausting. While Prince Araval and his soldiers all seemed to be his kinds of people, though admittedly the prince was a little hoighty-toighty and was on one of the tallest horses Sirius had ever seen both literally and figuratively, they also asked a lot of questions.

A lot of questions he had to roll with, incorporate into some strange patchwork backstory he was making for himself, and then also keep it all straight when answering more questions! 

So far he’d gotten this far:

He was a Wizard. Which apparently had a capital W. He was Sirius the Red. He did not remember much of where he originated, though he did remember having a family. This was allowable because apparently the other Wizards all seemingly arrived on boats with only vague answers about the past and their purpose on Middle Earth. So him feigning a kind of mystical block on his memories of specifics made him simply seem more honest than the other Wizards, not dumber. 

He said he could remember stories and songs and vagaries, but not specific people or events or a mission or anything. He feigned having been erased of all but the lore of his homeland. And he’d let on that even that was patchy. To cover for his homeland not being where they thought it was.

Which they assumed was Valinor, because where else to the West was there? Numenor and Belariad were apparently all consumed by fathoms and fathoms of ocean. Seriously, the gods here had a hard on for Biblical flooding in Sirius’s humble opinion. 

Also he had let them assume he’d already been on Middle Earth for a bit and was just investigating the tower ahead of them.

Because dropping out of a death portal that closed behind him was probably a bad explanation. 

He let slip he knew how to fight, and they’d tossed him a sword and trounced him.

Oh he was damn good at fencing like any Pureblood heir, but these were Merlin-damned broadswords and while he’d done well enough that Prince Araval had laughed and promised to teach him to properly use a Numenorean longsword instead of “Whatever mystic blade you are used to, Wizard,”.

Did the man think he summoned a sword of flame or something? Actually, Sirius mused, that’d be pretty cool he should look into that. 

And that was well enough, because, if Sirius were to be honest with himself, those swords were pretty cool and he’d feel like Godric Gryffindor rushing through battle sword in one hand and wand in the other. 

However eventually his thoughts ground to a halt as they came close enough for him to really get a good look at the fortress city of Fornost.

It put Hogwarts to shame. He was fairly certain it could put Edinburgh and Winchester to shame. 

High, shining grey, almost silver, walls stretched out into the distance backing up the hill on which they stood into the rising foothills of the distant mountain range. Every few hundred meters a durable looking guardhouse tower rose, to fend off the enemies of Man. The gates stood sturdy and immovable, appearing unassailable by anything south of the gunpowder cannons of his home. 

And that scared Sirius, these guys were losing a war against a guy that didn’t have cannons and they had castles like this. 

That meant this dude had some serious numbers, magic, or cunning. Or worse all three. 

And from the stories he’d heard on the ride in, he was pretty sure it was all three. 

Oh, also he was definitely going to have to learn the language here for real instead of relying on his translation charm. It gave him headaches after about the fourth hour of its eight hour duration.

As Prince Araval led his nine remaining soldiers and their new Wizard along the wide cobblestone roads of Fornost towards his father’s main keep and throne he pondered the man.

For as surely as the man was blessed with mystical power he was also encircled in mystery. His memory and knowledge appeared to be a strange and ephemeral patchwork of ideas and concepts which were at some moments concrete and rang with truth and power and at other moments were fey and fickle, blowing away with the wind of words. 

These thoughts occupied the prince as their, much diminished from their departure, troop made its way up to the center keep.

The throne room of Fornost was not quite as lavish as it could be, high ceilings and decorations for sure, however it only only been since the dissolution of Arnor and the civil war following the death of King Earendur that the capital moved to Fornost and Annuminas was abandoned. Thus it was a functional kind of prestige that decorated the hall of King Arveleg II, and though it had been nigh on nine hundred years, the spirit of the citadel as a fortress first and foremost had remained. For Arthedain as a successor state to Arnor had never known true peace. 

Upon the throne sat the aforementioned king, ready to receive his heir and his soldiers, hopefully home successful from the latest of a string of attempts to purge the evils of the Barrowdowns and Weathertop and return Northern Cardolan and Amon Sul to Arthedain’s control, instead of that of the evil Witch King. 

King Arveleg was an old man, for even the high men of Numenor began to show age when they reached as lofty an age as a hundred and sixty-three. In fact he quite reminded the Red Wizard of an old mentor of his, though this fact was not voiced for many years.

Even seated in his throne it was apparent that Arveleg was a tall man, likely clearing six and a half feet with a few inches to spare. His piercing grey eyes held a strength, insight, and wisdom that showed his full years. And yet his form was lean and wiry, showing that he could likely still stroll out onto the battlefield with his longbow and bastard sword and cleave his way through many of the creatures of darkness. 

Upon his brow sat a silver crown, purposefully not the full crown of the heirs of Elendil and Isildur, the kings of Arthedain refusing to wear it again until Arnor was completely purged of darkness and restored. 

And by his side sat a beautiful young woman. Herself a good two inches taller than Sirius’s own six feet and two inches, her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders in a gentle wave, a diadem of silver metal and green gems upon her head, to match the similar ring upon her finger. She wore a black and silver gown, embroidered with what seemed to be a pattern of ivy. 

Prince Araval put a fist over his heart and bowed at the waist, while his soldiers dropped into a kneeling position, with Sirius quickly following. 

“My Lord-Father, my men and I have returned. Though we are much diminished I believe that the ruins of Amon Sul are purged of the Wight. It is, however, due not to our own valor, but due to the prowess of this man here. His name is Sirius and he is yet another of these wandering Wizards, claiming to be of the Red.” 

The king’s thoughtful gaze turned to Sirius and he felt like he was a little boy once more, under the gaze of his headmaster at school. 

“Intriguing, I am gladdened by your return and gladdened again by news that one of these Wizards has lent their talents to our cause. Tell me, Red Wizard, do you wish to continue to aid us in our endeavors against the darkness?” 

Sirius had actually given this much thought over the past five days, he had eventually arrived to the conclusion that aligning himself with these Dunedan or Arthedain or...really they had far too many names for themselves. He had decided that aiding them was for the best, and would perhaps draw the attention of these other Wizards to possibly gain their aid in returning home.

And if returning home was not possible there were worse things he could do than become a king’s court wizard. Though he had also decided to not jump fully onto that train immediately.

“Indeed I will gladly aid your realm in fight against the darkness when the Witch-King’s troops come. However, when times are uneasily peaceful, I would rather not constantly be a court, could I perhaps have a small shop in the city to peddle my smaller magics to aid the hearts of the peasantry? And then be near to be called upon to aid in fighting any undead or evil creatures that assail the fair Kingdom of Arthedain?” Sirius had really been pulling hard from his childhood lessons to sound as flowery and pompous as the locals over the last few days. He was pretty pleased with himself actually.

The king continued his thoughtful and considering gaze, however the woman next to him interjected before he could, her eyes full of curiosity.

“What sort of small magics do you speak of, Wizard?”

“Ah! Indeed my lady I speak of the smallest of trifles. Runes of minor protection, repair of broken objects, and perhaps some minor pest control wards for houses and farms and the like.” 

The king nodded, “Very well, Wizard, stay here at the keep for a few days and I am certain my castellan can find a space for you. I understand the desire for independence you Wizards all seem to possess.”

Prince Araval turned to Sirius and grinned, “Until that time I can continue polishing up your sword skills, Wizard!”


End file.
